so pleasant in his eyes; but fear gave way apace, and ere the
appointed hour he was in his little workroom, where the mysterious
instructor found him in anxious expectation. He drew the requisite
materials from under his cloak, a well-primed canvas already prepared.
The pallet was covered, and Conrad sat down to obey his master's
directions.
"What shall be our subject?" inquired the pupil.
"A head. Proceed."
"A female?"
"Yes. But follow my instructions implicitly."
Conrad chalked out the outline. It was feebly, incorrectly drawn: but
the stranger took his crayon, and by a few spirited touches gave life,
vigour, and expression to the whole. Conrad was in despair.
"Oh that it were in my power to have done this!" he cried, putting one
hand on his brow, and looking at the picture as though he would have
devoured it.
"Now for colour," said the stranger; and he carefully directed his
pupil how to lay in the ground, to mingle and contrast the different
tints, in a manner so far superior to his former process, that Conrad
soon began to feel a glow of enthusiasm. His fervour increased, the
latent spark of genius was kindled. In short, the unknown seemed to
have imbued him with some hitherto unfelt attributes--invested him
either with new powers, or awakened his hitherto dormant faculties. As
before, by a few touches, the crude, spiritless mass became living and
breathing under the master's hand. Not many hours elapsed ere a pretty
head, respectably executed, appeared on the canvas. Conrad was in high
spirits.
He felt a new sense, a new faculty, as it were, created within him. He
worked industriously. Every hour seemed to condense the labour and
experience of years. He made prodigious advances. His master came
daily at the same time, and at length his term of instruction drew to
a close. The last morning of the month arrived; and Conrad, unknown to
his neighbours, had attained to the highest rank in his profession.
His paintings, all executed under the immediate superintendence of the
stranger, were splendid specimens of art.
* * * * *
In the year ----, all Paris was moved with the extraordinary
performances of a young artist, whose portraits were the most
wonderful, and his miniatures the most exquisite, that eyes ever
beheld. They looked absolutely as though endowed with life--real flesh
and blood to all appearance; and happy were those who could get a
painting from his hand. The price was enormous, and the marvellous
facility with which they were despatched was not the least
extraordinary part of the business. There was a mystery, too, about
him, provokingly delightful, especially to the female portion of the
community. In place of living in a gay and fashionable part of the
city, his lodging was in a miserable garret, overlooking one of the
gloomiest streets of the metropolis. His manners, too, were forbidding
and reserved. Instead of exhibiting the natural buoyancy of his years,
he looked careworn and dejected; nor was he ever known to smile.
After a period whispers got abroad that several of his female subjects
came to strange and untimely deaths. They were seized with some
dangerous malady, accompanied by frightful delusions. In general they
fancied themselves possessed. Wailings, shrieks, and horrible
blasphemies proceeded from the lips of the sufferers. These reports
were doubtless exaggerated, the marvellous being a prodigiously
accumulative and inventive faculty; yet enough remained, apparently
authentic, to justify the most unfavourable suspicions.
About this time a young Italian lady of a noble house arrived on a
visit to her brother in the suite of the Florentine embassy. This
princely dame, possessed of great wealth and beauty, was not long
unprovided with lovers; one especially, a handsome official in the
royal household, De Vessey by name, and as gallant a cavalier as ever
lady looked upon. But her term of absence being nigh expired, the
lovers were in great perplexity; and nothing seemed so likely to
contribute to their comfort during such unavoidable separation as a
miniature portrait of each from the hands of this inimitable painter.
Leonora sat first, and the lover was in raptures. Hour by hour he
watched the progress of his work in a little gloomy chamber, where the
artist, like some automaton fixture, was always found in the same
place, occupied too as it might seem without intermission.
"The gaze of that strange painter distresses me inexpressibly," said
Leonora to her companion, as they went for the last time to his
apartment. "I have borne it hitherto without a murmur, but words
cannot describe the reluctance with which I endure his glance; yet
while I feel as though my very soul abhorred it, it penetrates--nay,
drinks up and withers my spirit. Though I shrink from it, some
influence or fascination, call it as thou wilt, prevents escape; I
cannot turn away my eyes from his terrible gaze."
"Thou art fanciful, my love," said De Vessey; "the near prospect of
our parting makes thee apt to indulge these gloomy impressions. Be of
good cheer; nothing shall harm thee in my presence. 'Tis the last
sitting; put on a well-favoured aspect, I beseech thee. Remember, this
portraiture will be my only solace during the long long hours of thine
absence."
As they entered the artist's chamber, the picture lay before him,
which he seemed to contemplate with such absorbing intensity that he
was hardly aware of their entrance. He did not weep, but grief and
pity were strangely mingled in his glance. It was but for a moment; he
quickly resumed his usual attitude and expression. Whether the
previous conversation had made her lover liable to take the tone and
character of her own thoughts, we know not; but for the first time he
fancied Leonora's apprehensions were not entirely without excuse. He
looked on the artist, and it excited almost a thrill of apprehension.
But speedily chiding himself for these untoward fancies, he felt that
little was apparent either in look or manner but what the painter's
peculiar and unexampled genius might sufficiently explain.
Suddenly his attention was riveted on the lady. He saw her lips quiver
and turn pale as though she would have swooned. In a moment he was at
her side. The support seemed to re-animate the fainting maiden, her
head drooping on his shoulder. Almost gasping for utterance, she
whispered, "Take me hence, I want breath--air, air!" De Vessey lifted
her in his arms and bore her forth into the open doorway. Trembling,
shuddering, and looking round, the first words she uttered were--
"We are watched--by some unseen being in yonder chamber, I am
persuaded. Didst not mark an antique, dismal-looking ebony cabinet
immediately behind the painter?"
"I did, and admired its exquisite workmanship, as though wrought by
some cunning hand."
"As I fixed my eyes on those little traceries, it might be fancy, but
methought I saw the bright flash of a human eye gazing on me."
"Oh! my Leonora, indulge not these gloomy impressions. Throw off thy
wayward fancies. 'Tis but the reflex image the mind mistakes for
outward realities. When disordered she discerns not the substance from
the shadow. Thou art well-nigh recovered. Come, come, let us in.
To-day is the last of our task; prithee take courage and return."
"On one condition only; if thou take the chair first, and note well an
open scroll to the right where those fawns and satyrs are carved."
"Agreed. And now shake off thy fears, my love."
De Vessey led her again to the apartment, and as though without
consideration sat down, his face directly towards the cabinet. He
fixed his eyes thereon a few seconds only, when Leonora saw him start
up suddenly with a troubled aspect and grasp the hilt of his sword.
Then turning to the painter he said, sternly--
"So!--We have intruders here, I trow."
"Intruders? None!" was the artist's reply, without betraying either
surprise or alarm.
"That we'll see presently," said the cavalier, hastening to the
cabinet; which, with hearty good-will, he essayed to open.
"Why this outrage?" inquired the painter, colouring with a hectic
flush.
"Because 'tis my good pleasure," was the haughty reply. The door
resisted his utmost efforts. "Doubtless held by some one within. Open,
or by this good sword I'll make a passage through both door and
carcase."
The hinges slowly gave way, the folding-doors swung open, and
displayed a grinning skeleton.
"Ah! what lodger is this?"
"Mine art requires it," said the painter, with a ghastly smile; but in
that smile was an expression so fearful, yet mysterious, that even De
Vessey quailed before it. Another miniature portrait, a precise copy
of the one in hand, hung from the neck of the skeleton.
Leonora, with a loud shriek, covered her face; but the lover, though
far from satisfied himself, strove to assure his mistress, and
besought her not to indulge any apprehension.
"You are disturbed, lady," said the artist. "'Tis but a harmless piece
of earth, a mouldering fabric of dust, a thing, a form we must all one
day assume. But to-morrow, to-morrow, if you will, we resume our
work."
Leonora, relieved by the intimation, gladly consented, fain for a
while to escape from this terrible chamber.
"Nought living was there, of a truth," said the cavalier, in evident
perplexity, as they regained their coach. "But I saw plain enough, or
imagination played me the prank, a semblance of a bright and flashing
eye on the spot pointed out. Something incomprehensible hangs about
the whole!"
Leonora agreed in this conclusion, expressing a fear lest harm should
happen to themselves thereby. They were not ignorant of the whispers
afloat, but hitherto treated them either with ridicule or
indifference. Suspicion, however, once awake, mystery once
apprehended, every circumstance, even the most trivial, is seized
upon, the mind bending all to one grand object which haunts and
excites the imagination.
Having left his companion at her brother's dwelling, De Vessey came to
his own, moody and dispirited. A vague sense of some grievous but
impending misfortune hung heavily upon him. Night brought no
mitigation of his fears. Spectres, skeletons, and demon-painters
haunted his slumbers. He awoke in greater torment than ever. The
duplicate portrait was brought to his remembrance with a vividness, an
intensity so appalling, that he almost expected to behold the skeleton
wearer at his bedside.
Involved in a labyrinth of inextricable surmises, and not knowing what
course to pursue, he arose early, and walked forth without aim or
design towards the church of Notre Dame.
The red sun was just bursting through a thick atmosphere of mist,
illuminating its two dark western towers, which looked even more
gloomy under a bright and glowing sky, like melancholy in immediate
contrast with hilarity and joy.
He passed the Morgue, or dead-house, where bodies found in the Seine
are exposed, in order that they may be owned or recognised. Impelled
by curiosity, he entered. One space alone was occupied. He could not
surely be deceived when he saw the body of the unfortunate painter!
Those features were too well remembered to be mistaken. Here was new
ground for conjecture, fresh wonder and perplexity. He left this
melancholy exhibition and entered the cathedral. Mass was celebrating
at one of the altars. De Vessey joined in adoration, strolling away
afterwards towards the vaults: one of them was open. From some vague,
unaccountable impulse, he thus accosted the sexton:--
"Whose grave is this, friend?"
"A maid's--mayhap."
"Her name?"
"The only remaining descendant of the Barons Montargis."
"I have some knowledge of that noble gentlewoman; she was just about
to be married. What might be the nature of her malady?"
"Why, verily there be as many guesses as opinions. The doctors were
all at fault, and, 'tis said, even now in great dispute. The king's
physician tried hard to save her. Old Frere Jeronymo, the confessor,
will have it she was possessed; but all his fumigations, exorcisms,
paters, and holy water could not cast out the foul fiend. She died
raving mad!"
"A miserable portion for one so young and high-born. Was there no
visible cause?"
"Cause!--Ay, marry; if common gossip be not an arrant jade. Her
portrait had been taken by that same limner who, they say, has been
taught in the devil's school, and can despatch a likeness with the
twirl of his brush."
"And what of that?" cried De Vessey, in an agony of impatience.
"Why, the same fate has happened to several of our city dames. That is
all."
"What has happened?"
"They have gone mad, and either felt or fancied some demon had gotten
them in keeping. For my part, I pretend not to a knowledge of the
matter. But you seem strangely moved, methinks."
The cavalier was nigh choking with emotion. Sick at heart, and with a
fearful presentiment of impending evil, he turned suddenly away.
His next visit, as may be supposed, was to his mistress. He found her
in great agitation. The portrait had been sent home the preceding
night, and completely finished, lay before her--an exquisite--nay,
marvellous--specimen of art. She was gazing on her own radiant
counterpart as he entered. They both agreed that something more than
ordinary ran through the whole proceedings, though unable to
comprehend their meaning. De Vessey related his discovery in the
Morgue, but not his subsequent interview with the sexton.
Ere night, Leonora was seized with a strange and frightful disease.
Symptoms of insanity were soon developed. She uttered fearful cries;
calling on the painter in language wild and incoherent, but of
terrific import.
The lover was at his wits' end. He vowed to spare no efforts to save
her, though scarcely knowing what course to pursue, or in what quarter
to apply for help.
His first care was to seek the dwelling of a certain renowned doctor,
a German, whose extraordinary cures and mode of treatment had won for
him great wealth and reputation. Though by some accounted a quack and
impostor, nevertheless De Vessey hoped, as a last resource, so cunning
a physician might be able to point at once to the source and cure of
this occult malady.
Doctor Herman Sichel lived in one of those high, antique,
dreary-looking habitations, now pulled down, situate in the Rue
d'Enfer. A common staircase conducted to several suites of apartments,
tenanted by various occupants, and at the very summit dwelt this
exalted personage.
A pull at the ponderous bell-handle gave notice of De Vessey's
approach, when, after due deliberation, it might seem, and a long
trial to the impatient querent, a little wicket was cautiously slid
back, behind a grating in the door. A face, partially exhibited,
demanded his errand.
"Thy master, knave!"
"He is in the very entrails of a sublime study. Not for my beard, grey
though it be, dare I break in upon him."
"Mine errand is urgent," said De Vessey; "and, look thee, say a noble
cavalier hath great need of succour at his hands."
"Grammercy, Sir Cavalier, and hath not everybody an errand of like
moment?--thy business, peradventure, less urgent than fifty others
whose suit I have denied this blessed day. I tell thee, my master may
not be disturbed!"
De Vessey held up a coin temptingly before the grating. It would not
go through, and the crusty Cerberus gently undid a marvellous array of
chains, bars, and other ingenious devices, opening a slit wide enough
for its insertion.
"Wider! thou trusty keeper," said the artful suitor outside. "I cannot
fly through a key-hole!"
A hand was carefully protruded. The cavalier, espying his opportunity,
thrust first his sword, afterwards himself, through the aperture, in
spite of curses and entreaties from the greedy porter. He was
immediately within a dark entrance or vestibule; the astonished and
angry menial venting his wrath in no measured phrases on the intruder.
De Vessey, in a peremptory tone, demanded to be led forthwith into the
doctor's presence. The old man delayed for a while, almost speechless
from several causes. His breath was nigh spent. Wrath on the one hand,
fear of his master's displeasure on the other, kept him, like
antagonistic forces, perpetually midway between both.
"Lead the way, knave, or, by the beard of St Louis, I'll seek him
through the house! Quick! thou hast legs; if not, speak! Mine errand
is urgent, and will not wait."
A stout and determined cavalier, with a strong gripe, and a sword none
of the shortest, was not to be trifled with; and, after many
expostulations, warnings, threats, had failed of their effect, he at
length doggedly consented.
"Thou wilt give me the coin, then, Sir Cavalier?"
"Ay, when thou hast earned it. Away!"
Passing through a narrow passage, lighted from above, his conductor
paused before a curiously-carved oaken door, at which three taps
announced a message.
"Now enter, and pray for us both a safe deliverance. But, prithee,
tell him it was not my fault thou hast gotten admission."
The door slowly opened, as though without an effort, and De Vessey was
immediately in the presence of the physician, evidently to the
surprise of the learned doctor himself, who angrily demanded his
business and the ground of his intrusion.
"Mine hour is not yet come, young man. Wherefore shouldst thou, either
by stratagem or force, thrust thyself, unbidden, into our presence?"
"To buy or beg thine aid, if it be possible. The case admits not of
delay. I crave thy pardon, most reverend doctor, if that content thee;
and, rest assured, no largess, no reward shall be too great, if thou
restore one, I fear me, beyond earthly aid."
"Thus am I ever solicited," replied the sage, with a portentous scowl.
He was clad in a gown of dark stuff, with slippers to match; his poll
surmounted by a small black velvet skull-cap, from which his white,
intensely white, hair escaped in great profusion. His visage was not
swarthy, but of a leaden, pale complexion, where little could be
discerned of the wondrous misrocosm within. Books, and manuscripts of
ancient form and character, emblazoned in quaint and mystic devices,
lay open on a long oak table, on which rested one elbow of the wise
man; the other was thrown over an arm of the high-backed chair whereon
he sat. The room contained plenty of litter in the shape of phials,
boxes, and other strange furniture. A cupola furnace was just heated,
the doctor apparently concocting some subtle compound.
"I am expected to wrest these helpless mortals even from the ravening
jaws of the grave! My skill never tried until beyond other aid!"
"But this disorder is of a sudden emergency. A lady of high birth and
lineage, a few hours since, was seized with a raging frenzy."
"A female, then?"
"Ay, and of such sweet temper and excellent parts, there be none to
match with her, body or mind, in Christendom."
"When did this malady attack her?"
"Almost immediately after a portrait, made by the celebrated painter,
was finished. Of him thou hast doubtless heard."
"The painter--ay! There be more than thou have rued his skill. Young
man, thy pretty one is lost!"
"Lost? Oh, say not so! I will give thee thine utmost
desire--riches--wealth thou hast never possessed, if thou restore
her!"
"She is beyond my skill. Hast visited him since?"
"I have seen him. She is the last victim, if such be her fate. This
very morning, betimes, I saw his body in the Morgue."
"They have found him, then?" said the doctor, sharply. "Yet our bodies
are but exuviae. When cast off, this thinking, sentient principle
within has another tabernacle assigned to it, until the great
consummation of all things. But these are fables, idle tales, to the
unlearned. Nevertheless, I pity thy cruel fate, and, if aid can be
afforded, will call another to thine help. Hence! Thou shalt hear from
me anon."
"And without loss of time; for every moment, methinks, our succour may
come too late."
"I will forthwith seek out one whom I have heretofore taken knowledge
of. Every science has its votaries--its adepts; and this evil case
hath its remedy only by those skilled in arts called, however falsely,
supernatural. Even now there be intelligences around us which the
corporeal eye seeth not, nor can see, unless purged from the dross,
the fumes of mortality. Some, peradventure, by long and patient study,
have arrived on the very borders, the confines that separate visible
from invisible things, and become, as it were, the medium of
intercourse for mortals, who are by this means mightily aided in
matters beyond ordinary research. Put thine ear to this shell. Mark
its voice, like the sound of many waters. Are not these the invisible
source, the essence of its being? Has not everything in like manner,
even the most inanimate, a tongue, a language, peculiar to itself--a
soul, a spirit, pervading its form, which moulds and fashions every
substance according to its own nature? Now, this voice thou canst not
interpret, being unskilled--knowing not the languages peculiar to
every form and modification of matter; else would this beautiful type
of the ever-rolling sea discourse marvellously to thine ear. But thou
hast not the key to unclose its mystic tongue; hence, like any other
unknown speech, 'tis but a confused jumble of unmeaning sound. I have
little more knowledge than thyself, but there be those who can
interpret. Vain man--presumptuous, ignorant--scoffs at knowledge
beyond his reach, and thinks his own dim, nay, darkened reason,
glimmering as in a dungeon, the narrow horizon that circumscribes his
vision, the utmost boundary of all knowledge and existence, while
beyond lies the infinite and unknown, utterly transcending his
capacity and comprehension."
De Vessey drank up every word of this harangue; and something akin to
hope rose in his bosom as he withdrew.
"Thou wilt have a message ere nightfall. An awful trial awaits thee
ere the spell can be countervailed."
The cavalier withdrew, suffering many wistful remarks from the old
doorkeeper, who marvelled greatly at the interview so graciously
conceded by his master; while at the same time holding out his palm
for the promised largess.
De Vessey waited impatiently at his own dwelling for the expected
message. Evening drew on, dark and stormy. The wind roared along the
narrow streets in sharp and irregular gusts; while, pacing his chamber
in an agony of suspense, he fancied every sound betokened the
approaching communication. At length, when expectation was almost
weary, a louder rumbling was heard; a coach drew up at the door; a
hasty knock, and a heavy tramp; then footsteps ascending the
staircase. The door opened, and two _gens-d'armes_ entered.
"We have authority and instructions for the arrest of one Sigismund de
Vessey, on a charge of murder, made this day by deposition before the
Mayor and Prefecture of the Ville de Paris. The individual so named,
we apprehend, is before us."
"The same; though assuredly there is some mistake. Of whose death am I
accused?"
"Of one Conrad Bergmann, a painter, whose body, last night thrown into
the Seine, was to-day exposed in the Morgue. The rest will be
explained anon."
"But an engagement--one, too, of a most important nature--demands my
presence."
"No discretion is allowed us in this matter. The carriage waits."
However reluctant, De Vessey was forced to obey. Though confident of a
speedy release, this arrest at so important a juncture was provoking
enough. Leonora's recovery might probably depend on his exertions for
the next few hours, which were now suddenly wrested from him.
Leaving word that he would shortly return, the cavalier stept into the
vehicle, which immediately drove off.